Eight Days
by Kuroi-cho-tsuki-shiro
Summary: Rukia investigates a glaring absence of spiritual pressure in the heart of Karakura Town. A series of shorts based on the story of Bleach from Rukia's point of view. 1
1. Chapter 1

The night was cold and damp against her face. The clouds, though still remote, boiled with the threat of early summer storms, while the city below hummed with life.

Eight nights like this since she had come here. Eight nights in this world. They had taken their toll on her, mentally and physically, each one bringing new challenges, but her pride would not let her go back on the commission.

Karakura, a provincial suburb on the outskirts of Tokyo, was crawling with hollow spirits and it was her duty to hunt them down. When they gave her the commission, she wondered, had they known? Had they realised that, for every soul she laid to rest, there were eight demons she was forced to confront. Was it like this everywhere in the human world?

Another night was about to begin. She felt the spiritual forces moving below her and she stepped forward, off of the telegraph pole she had been standing on. Silvering wind sheens licked her face as she fell.


	2. Chapter 2

Eight days. Mostly, the spirits were active at night, but, one time, she had tracked down two on a sunny afternoon in the centre of a crowded part of town. Somehow, it didn't seem right. And there was something else that was bothering her too. That was why she had come here.

Rukia placed one hand against the brick wall. For the most part, she sensed the world in the same way humans did: the cold against her palm, the chipped paint and the window frame picked out by moonlight. Another part of her though, a part that was all her senses and none, saw the ghosts that filled the night. The living and the dead; all had souls, which glowed like a million candle flames, incapable of being obscured by bricks and mortar. She was troubled now because her instincts, honed as they were, were telling her that she was looking at this second world, this spirit world, as if through a veil. She had sensed it, at first, as she would have any other presence and had searched for its source. Now that she was close though, it felt more like an absence, a void into which all the other soul energies were being pulled. The closer she came, the more her own senses were affected and now, more than ever, it threatened to smother her.

The wall in front of her had form, was solid, but she herself was not and, with a slight effort of will, she was able to step forward, through the bricks and the layers of wood, insulation and paintwork, into a warm, dark room.

The suffocating absence was close now. Its proximity dizzied her as she stepped out of the wall and onto a busy desktop. Her footfalls left the pens and papers undisturbed. From the desk, she stepped onto a chair and down onto a carpeted floor. To her right, a human figure was curled up on the bed, wrapped in a duvet. Humans filled their world with things, she thought, glancing around: books, computers and consoles, a skateboard propped against the wall, cushions, futons. The space seemed crowded with its owner's whims.

She stepped forward, trying to close off her regular senses and feel only that curious void. If she could simply find its source, that might be enough.

Then something struck her squarely between the shoulder blades. The blow was hard enough to knock her off her feet. She landed in a heap at the base of a wardrobe. An electric light came on:

"Who are you?"

Rukia turned. It was a boy, a human boy, likely the same figure that had been folded into the duvets. He was standing over her, staring at her. Shouting at her.

She rose clumsily, her knees catching in the black robe she wore:

"You can see me?" she said, and then: "You kicked me!"

"What are you doing here?"

His face was pale with rage. He was a child. Not yet a man, but tall and long: a teenager still growing into a man's body. And he wasn't scared. Angry, yes, but not scared.

Rukia knew that it was possible for some humans to sense her; she had been taught that her presence might disquiet them, that they might become tense, nervous. Anger, however, was not something she had anticipated. She matched it with her own curiosity.

She approached him and he didn't move away. She reached out and touched his face:

"Humans shouldn't be able to see me."

When he went to smack her hand away, she leapt up, stepping on the thin air beside his shoulder, before skipping up and over his head. She landed softly on the floor behind him.

"What are you?" he demanded.

"I'm a death god."


	3. Chapter 3

_Shinigami_.

A death god or soul reaper.

Rukia found herself seated on the floor opposite the human boy. Here she was, speaking to this creature from another world as if he was just another one of her comrades from the _Sereitei_. It had been a most unexpected evening, not least because, for once, she had done most of the talking.

He had listened in silence as she explained herself, his mixture of curiosity and fearlessness making her want to continue. So she had begun to tell him a little about soul reapers, about how they were responsible for the dead, and how they guided lost spirits to Soul Society. She told him about hollow spirits, those that had become twisted into demons. By the time she had finished speaking, she'd surprised herself. It had been some time since she had spoken to anyone but the frightened souls of the dead. Longer still since she'd had cause to tell anyone about her work. With that thought came a sense of loneliness that made her frown.

"So you send good spirits to this place called Soul Society?" he asked: "And you destroy bad spirits."

"That's right."

"And you expect me to believe this?"

_Yes. _In fact, she'd expected a more awed reaction. Instead, he heaved himself to his feet suddenly, crossed to where she sat and patted her gently on the head as if she were a child: "You're not human; I'll give you that. But you're not a death god. There's no such thing as death gods, so get the hell out of my house, Girl!"

She reacted to the impudence of his touch as much as to her own anger, standing up and swiping one hand through the air before her:

"_Bakudo shi!"_

The incantation raked invisible bindings out of the spirit particles in the room. The boy's hands were wrenched behind his back as the air itself became ropes for his wrists and ankles. He struggled, over-balanced and fell face-forward onto the floor. "I've seen ten times your lifetime and you dare to call me 'Girl?'" she snapped.

"What are you? Get off! Let me go! You're not a death god!"

"Is that so?" She might have found some way to teach him a lesson, but, out of the corner of her eye, Rukia caught sight of movement. They were no longer alone, she realised. She was troubled that she'd not sensed the spirit before she saw it; it was a lost soul, no doubt attracted by her own energy and that of the boy. It drifted nearer.

They retained their form, these spirits. This one wore a crumpled suit and glasses. Thin and ill as it had no doubt been on its death bed. A pale, translucent bureaucrat.

Rukia reached across her body and drew her sword.

The boy's eyes widened.

Perhaps he had not noticed the katana until now. Perhaps it had only just occurred to her that if he could see her and even touch her then that blade she carried might be just as real.

The boy flinched as Rukia turned the blade and brought the pommel down. He thought she meant to strike him and had been oblivious of the ghost which had drifted between them. The base of her blade's pommel smote the spirit in the forehead. Rukia felt the familiar surge of energy leave her own body and race down the blade of the sword. The imprint of two characters appeared on the ghost's brow: 'Death,' 'Life,' they said. It let out a small moan. "Don't be afraid," said Rukia as the room filled with silvery light. At her feet, the boy dared to open his eyes. A white void had opened in the centre of his room. The ghost sunk into it, gradually losing form and, when nothing was left, the maw closed and they were alone once again.

"What was that?" asked the boy.

"A spirit."

"What did you do to it?"

"_Khonso_, a form of ritual. I sent it to Soul Society."

"Was it a hollow?"

"No." She glanced at him. He was still face down, but no longer struggling. "You would know a hollow if you saw one. I am tracking one."

His eyes widened:

"What's that sound?"

"What sound?"

"That sound! Is that a hollow? Why can't you hear it?" He looked scared now. Rukia strained to hear anything. She was no closer to understanding what it was that was affecting her senses, but when she finally heard the noise, there was no mistaking the many-voiced cry:

"The voice of a hollow," she said.

"Why couldn't you hear it?"

"I don't know. Something is blocking my" – It sounded again, nearer this time. The boy began to struggle against her magic. Rukia frowned: "How could you have heard it before me?"

And again. This time followed by a piercing human scream, close enough to make her flinch. The boy's face went white as chalk:

"My sisters!"

There were footfalls on the stairs outside; a small figure suddenly appeared in the doorway. Rukia turned, one hand on her sword, but it was only a child, a girl dressed in a night-gown, covered, head to foot, in her own blood. She swayed for a moment, then collapsed on the threshold. The boy at Rukia's feet cried out again: "Yuzu!" It was in the house, Rukia realised. It was attacking the boy's family and yet, until now, she hadn't even felt its presence.

She checked the girl's pulse. She was still alive, and that was important. Protect living humans at all costs: those were the terms of her commission. To that end, she thought it best to leave the boy restrained. She couldn't risk him following her. As she took the stairs two at a time, she could still hear him, screaming himself hoarse and demanding that she release him.

The front of the house was gone. Where once there had been a living room and kitchen there was now a gaping hole and rain falling onto a tarmac driveway. She could see the hollow; it had a humanoid body, smooth and black and as tall as the house itself. Like all demons, it had a hole through its chest where its heart had once been, and its face was nothing more than a toothy skull with a snapping jaw. From one of its hands dangled the lifeless figure of another child.

Rukia's breath caught in her throat; she couldn't sense it, neither the presence of its soul nor its spiritual energy. It would be like fighting blind. In the last eight days, she had fought and defeated sixteen hollow. She was exhausted and though that didn't account for her failure to perceive this one, it was impacting her state of mind. She was scared. She was never scared, but tonight was different. Without her spiritual senses she had no way of telling how strong it was or even whether she could defeat it.

Off to her left, something heavy tumbled down the stairs and came to rest at her feet. It squirmed and stood up as Rukia stared. The boy! But that was impossible! She had left him safely bound by _Bakudo_ Four. It was unthinkable that a human could break through her spell:

"Stay back!" she warned him. She didn't doubt that he could see the hollow. _Psychic. _That was the word humans used for people like him. And psychics drew in spirits with their own energy. Perhaps that was why the hollow had come here, and the ghost of the bureaucrat. And her, she thought, shivering. She had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that she wasn't going to walk out of this tonight. And yet, it was strange that she had been drawn here; strange that tonight, of all nights, she had met this human who defied all explanation just when she was crippled by the absence of her own powers. The answer, she felt, was staring her in the face, licking at the sides of her mind.

Yet that absence, that void that seemed to draw in all the spirits close to it: was it possible?

Was it him?

She looked sideways at the boy. His wrists were still trapped behind his back, but he was straining against his bonds, his brows screwed up in concentration. If he truly intended to test the strength of his own soul against hers, there was every chance that he would tear himself apart against that magic. Human souls were too frail: "Don't" – she began. Yet, even as she said it, his wrists came free. She felt the sliver of power that raced through him, felt it as a physical blow, shattering the_ Bakudo_ into a thousand shards.

He didn't hesitate. Grasping a chair over his head as if he might use it as a weapon, he barrelled headlong into the creature that held his sister. Rukia had no time to think: protect living humans at all costs. Those were her orders. At all costs.

She thickened the air in front of her so that, as she jumped, it lifted her higher. Her sword sunk into the creature's arm, cutting so deep that it nearly severed its clawed hand, and the demon howled in agony. The girl dropped from its grasp. The boy, who had eyes only for his sister's safety, was there suddenly below them. He caught the limp and bloodied bundle that fell from the demon's hand, cradling her head as he turned away. Rukia saw no more because the demon swiped at her with its other hand, sending her flying backwards, the length of the tarmac drive. She thickened the air again, creating friction that prevented her body from slamming into the house on the far side of the drive. From a point in mid-air, she faced the hollow, sword-drawn.

It screamed with a thousand voices.

In the rubble of his house, the boy laid his sister gently down and turned back towards her.

And that was when she understood: the void, the absence of her own powers, it was not an absence at all. It was like staring at a blank patch of colour, seeing nothing, before realising that she must step back because she what she was looking at was only part of a larger picture: a picture so vast she hadn't even contemplated its existence. It was surely impossible, and yet it seemed clear now: her own powers, and her sense of the souls around her, were being obliterated by a greater power, one so immense that it was like a stain on the landscape. The boy jogged back to her across the tarmac.

All she could think of, as she spoke, was that he had no idea.

"You have a strong spiritual pressure," she said and her voice sounded calm and sure: "Have you always been able to see ghosts?"

The hollow had retreated to the far side of the drive. She had time to listen and let his words sink in:

"It's gotten worse recently."

"Spirits and hollows will be attracted to your _reiatsu, _your spiritual pressure. That's why it's come here."

"It's here because of me? You mean my father, my sisters – it's all because of me?"

She realised, too late, that she should never have spoken. He had stepped forward.

The demon stopped howling and stared. Without Rukia standing between them, its prize, it seemed had just delivered itself into its hands. "You want me?" the boy screamed up at it: "Then take me! Don't touch them! Take me!"

And Rukia saw how it would unfold. For all his self-sacrifice, if a demon took his soul, that soul, its strength would increase a thousand fold. His father, his sisters, they would all die if she let that happen.

She made no decision to act, but she found herself running forward, sword drawn, leaping up into the heavy air. One chance. She would have to strike it in the head.

The demon lunged for the boy. Rukia realised, too late, that she couldn't land a blow at such an angle. Her sword cut into the bone mask on its face and lodged deep, but not deep enough to kill and not deep enough to prevent the heavy jaws snapping shut over her body. She felt them grind into her, felt her ribs crack under the pressure.

The only thing that kept her from losing consciousness was the knowledge that the moment she let go of the sword, the hollow would consume her. So she held on blindly until its scream of rage and pain released her.

This time, she didn't break her fall and the air did not tighten around her. She struck the ground and blacked out. She became aware, moments later, of the smell of tarmac, of rain on her back, sliding down her neck and into her hair, of the thousand-voiced hollow ranting in pain. She wanted to laugh at what a fool she was, that it had come to this. There was blood coursing down her shoulders, but it wasn't the external injuries that would kill her. She had felt her own bones shatter. And for what? For the boy?

Even now, she could feel him behind her, the energy emanating from him like the heat of a dark sun. While she could still breathe, she lifted her head and tried to raise herself, but it was all she could do to roll onto her back with a grunt of pain and prop herself up against the wall. Soon the hollow would return and, this time, there would be nothing and no-one to stop it:

"You fool," she murmured to the boy who stood close by: "Did you think you could stop it?"

"I'm sorry."

"There is a way. I should say, there is only one way, for you to save your family." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded distant, strangely calm.

"What? Anything!"

"Take this sword," she said. The katana felt heavy in her hand as she raised it, resting the hilt against her thigh: "And thrust it through your breast. I will transfer my powers to you. You will become a _shinigami_."

His resolve waivered only briefly before a fixed expression of determination turned his features to stone. He stood over her and she was reminded again that he was no more than a child with messy hair and a school blazer barely creased from the day. Did she know what she was saying, she wondered. But they would die if she didn't. One chance was all that he would have.

The katana, usually such a familiar weight against her palm, shuddered as a spasm rent through her. She wondered at her injuries. But very soon they wouldn't matter. As if sensing her failing strength, the boy reached forward and grasped the blade flat between his hands, taking most of its weight:

"_Shinigami_," he addressed her: "My name is Kurosaki Ichigo."

Despite herself, she smiled:

"My name is not '_Shinigami_.' I am Kuchiki Rukia."

Without hesitation, he stepped forward onto the blade of her sword.

She knew then that she could not control it. The power flowed out of her like a storm surge and, all about them, the air filled with a blinding, silver light. The boy's _reiatsu_ was strong enough that it could ordinarily have forced her to her knees, but, in her current condition, it pinned her down like a vice, squeezing the air from her lungs. The sword, her most precious possession, began to splinter into shards of white light, until the blade itself was gone, and then she could no longer feel even the hilt against her palm.

As the lights around her finally dispersed, she could hear the hollow screaming again, working itself into a rage. She shivered. The body of the boy lay beside her, face down and lifeless. The boy himself, however, stood on the far side of the tarmac, dressed in the black uniform and _hakama _of a _shinigami. _Across his back, he hefted a sword as long as he was tall and, as she watched, he stepped forward, sweeping the blade upwards and back, moving with impossible grace. "I only meant to give you half my power," she mumbled: "But you took it all. I've never known a human with such _reiatsu, _and I've never seen a death god with such a sword. What are you?"

Even as she spoke though she felt the last of her strength leave her and she folded backwards onto the black ground.


	4. Chapter 4

**If you enjoyed this story, please check my profile page for the next in the series . It lists them in order so you shouldn't have any trouble finding them. Thanks!**


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